Breathe
by Jedi Goat
Summary: Deidara comes down with a fever, and Sasori's ignoring him. Is his partner really as cold-hearted as he seems...? No ships.


**Breathe**

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer: "Jedi Goat does not own Naruto, un."

Author's Note: Because we can always use more non-yaoi Dei and Sasori cuteness, that's why ^.^

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From beneath thick blankets poked a small head, pale faced and half-hidden by the shroud of tousled blond hair spilling across the pillow. Loud coughing echoed across the cavernous chamber; then the figure retreated deeper into the depths of the warm covers, his visible eye watery and blue.

"Danna…"

The hoarse whisper, if at all audible, went unacknowledged by the redhead in question. Back to his suffering thirteen-year-old partner, Sasori was intently focused on repairing the mess of puppet limbs strewn across his desk. His silence was cold, as it had been since early that morning when the boy confessed to being too sick to leave his bed.

Deidara closed his eyes, listening to the rasp of his breathing. Beyond that, there came the quiet but nonetheless reassuring sounds of Sasori at his craft. Wooden parts rattled; occasionally he perceived the whisper of sandpaper or the clatter of a screwdriver. When he found it too exerting to focus on his clay, this other form of art – the intricate, "eternal" art Sasori proclaimed – was enough to allow Deidara to cling to wakefulness.

Maybe he and Sasori disagreed about the true quality of art – in the moment, Deidara insisted that there was a beauty that all of time could never capture; Sasori argued preserving art, for all of time and people to appreciate, held more value than a "silly explosion". However, as long hours passed in the hushed darkness, Deidara could sense the true, focused effort that went into each ornate puppet, and he mindlessly compared it to his clay creatures. They both poured their passions into their art's conception; and no matter its arguable beauty afterward, it was this fervor that mattered and was admirable.

Reflection was making his head pulse – restlessly Deidara flopped over, curling his legs close to his chest. The blankets twisted around him and he tugged half-heartedly at them. Above all things he despised sickness; in his waking hours, he never did appreciate stillness. He needed to be moving – he had so much training to accomplish, ideas for art just begging to be made; his hand-mouths, sore as they were, opened wide in a soundless demand for clay. Deidara whimpered faintly, face buried in his pillow. How he hated it, being so helpless…!

Cool fingers brushed his forehead; he nearly flinched in surprise. Raising his eyes from his pillow, he met Sasori's amber gaze. He hadn't even noticed the older man's approach; before Deidara could think of something to say, Sasori pulled away, his mask of emotionless cool undisturbed.

"Your fever's still high. Get some rest, brat."

Deidara nodded meekly at the command. "_'_Kay, danna, un…" He tapered off at the small sound; his throat burned protest. Deidara coughed, eyes tearing again.

"Danna…it hurts…"

"Hn," Sasori said shortly; his back was turned to his partner as he went on. "You brought this on yourself, brat. You're the one who _insisted _on flying in the rain yesterday."

Deidara said nothing. He was well accustomed to Sasori's sardonic jabs at everything he did – he was always just a brat to him, always doing everything wrong. In truth, he didn't altogether mind – that was just Sasori-no-danna's way, and he respected his elder's opinions. On art, maybe not so much… Art, Deidara was firm upon, was in the beauty of the moment, the spontaneity, the unexpected.

"I'm sorry," Deidara mumbled, rubbing his reddened nose. "Danna, I'll be quiet now…I promise…if you could just…"

"What do you want?" Sasori muttered, glancing over his shoulder at him. In his sharp words and tense posture, his exasperation and impatience to return to work were evident. Deidara lowered his eyes.

"Could you get me some water…please?"

Sasori didn't answer; he soundlessly paced out of the room, leaving Deidara alone under the heavy blanket of silence. He closed his eyes, drawing a long breath; he could feel heat nearly radiating off his body, his throat still tight and painful. He strived to find some solace now, but the lack of noise only increased his anxiety; without Sasori's presence in the background he was insecurely alone.

Deidara shuffled beneath the blankets, tossing restlessly; nothing could relieve his agitation until he heard the crack of the door opening. He reopened his eyes.

Sasori stood over him with a clear glass of water in hand. Deidara forced himself to sit up, just enough to save himself the indignity of spilling it all over himself. The glass was pressed into his hands and he took greedy sips – immediately the coolness soothed his throat.

"Thanks, danna," he whispered with the faintest cracked smile of gratitude. Sasori said nothing for a moment, but thoughtlessly settled on the edge of the bed beside him. He touched a hand to Deidara's forehead, brushing aside his sweaty bangs.

"Hn." He withdrew and instead offered his palm – Deidara uncertainly surveyed the pills he proffered.

"These will help, brat," he said, steadily eyeing him. Almost daunted by the surprisingly kind gesture, Deidara hastened to swallow them, gulping down some water when he was finished.

"Those tasted disgusting, un," he huffed.

Sasori raised an eyebrow. "You're welcome." He started to stand; Deidara, flushing slightly as he realized he must have offended him, grasped his arm. Sasori glanced down at him with a blink of surprise.

"…Thank you, danna," Deidara mumbled, eyes downcast. With that he pulled back, shifting back down under the covers. They were still haplessly tangled; he was too tired to rearrange them and merely tugged weakly at the edge.

After a moment Sasori leaned over him, smoothing the twists that had formed from all his thrashing. As he settled the blankets around his shoulders, Deidara was wordless in surprise; Sasori's unruffled expression wasn't any different, but he had never shown such a considerate side of him. Sasori caught his bemused look.

"Get some sleep, Deidara," he advised, stepping back. "I'm sure you'll be a brat for me tomorrow."

Deidara couldn't help but smile at that. "I'll try, un…"

Then, in a sudden resolute motion, Sasori bent and touched his lips to the boy's forehead. Deidara closed his eyes; some of his pain seemed to have eased with the gesture. When he glanced up again, Sasori was again across the room, engrossed in his puppetry.

_Thank you, danna._ Deidara shut his eyes again with a tiny smile, knowing.

True art was in the beauty of a single, perfect moment.

End

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